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THE   BLACK   PANTHER 


THE   BLACK   PANTHER 

A  BOOK  OF  POEMS 


BY 
JOHN   HALL  WHEELOCK 

AUTHOR  or 

"TUB  HI-MAN  FAWTAST"  "THK  BCIX>V£D  lavurrvtat" 

"LOVE  AND  LIBEKATIOM"  "DU»T  AMD  I.IUHT,"  BTV. 


NEW    YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


COPYMGHT,   1922,  »T 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER*S  SONS 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


The  author  thanks  the  editors  of  the  following,  for  kind 
permission  to  reprint  here  various  poems  first  published  in 
their  pages:  All's  Well,  The  American  Magazine,  The  Art 
World,  The  Bellman,  The  Bookman,  The  Century  Magazine, 
Contemporary  Verse,  The  Dial,  The  Forum,  The  Freeman, 
Harper's  Monthly,  The  International,  The  Literary  Review  of 
The  Xew  York  Evening  Post,  The  Lyric,  McClure's  Magazine, 
The  Outlook,  Poetry,  The  Poetry  Journal,  The  Poetry  Review, 
Reedy  s  Mirror,  Scribner's  Magazine,  The  Smart  Set,  The  Yale 
Review,  Youth.  Thanks  are  also  due  to  Messrs.  Harcourt, 
Brace  and  Company  for  permission  to  reprint  "Sea-Horizons," 
first  published  in  the  anthology,  Enchanted  Years. 


CONTENTS 

PAOl 

The  Black  Panther  3 


/.     Dim  Wisdoms 

NIGHT    HAS    ITS    FEAR 

THE   SORROWFUL   MASQUERADE  H 

OCTOBER    MOONLIGHT  l-°> 

THE    FLESH    AND    THE    DREAM  lo 

VAUDEVILLE  1C 

1014  18 

THE    BELOVED  19 

PROUD    DOOM  21 

THE    SECRET   ONE  22 
THE    UNDISSUADABLE    AUSTERITY 

BLIND    PLAYERS  26 

TRAVAIL  28 

THE   POET   TELLS  OF   HIS   LOVE  29 

THE    BURIED    DREAM  31 

HAUNTED    EARTH  32 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

LONG    AGO  34 

TCHAIKOVSKY:  FIFTH  SYMPHONY  35 

MIRROR  36 

PLAINT  38 
ANDANTE 

-4 THE    DEAR   MYSTERY  4£ 

IN    THE    DARK    CITY  43 

II.     Space  and  Solitude 

IMMENSITY  4? 

SEA-HORIZONS  48 

OF    DAY   CAME    NIGHT  51 
PILGRIM 

BY   THE   GRAY   SEA  5* 

THE    FISH-HAWK  55 

DISDAINFUL   BEAUTY  57 

MY   LONELY   ONE  58 

///.     The  Lost  Traveller's  Dream 
WILD  THOUGHT 

JOURNEY'S  END  ^4 

BELATED   LOVE  °5 

viii 


CONTENTS 

A  LEAVE-TAKING  6C 
BUT  LOVE- 
ANNE  73 
THE  SILENCE  74 
EXULTATION  75 
SONG  OF  SONGS  77 
SORROWFUL  FREEDOM  78 
STARLESS  MORNING  79 
PHANTOM  80 
LEGEND  81 

IV.     The  Divine  Fantasy  85 

The  Lion- House  97 


IX 


THE  BLACK  PANTHER 


Jt Jt-        .  •* 


THERE  is  a  panther  caged  within  my  breast; 
But  what  his  name,  there  is  no  breast  shall  know 
Save  mine]  nor  what  it  is  that  drives  him  so,( 
Backward  and  forward,  in  relentless  quest- 
That  silent  rage,  baffled  but  unsuppressed, 
The  soft  pad  of  those  stealthy  feet  that  go 
Over  my  body's  prison  to  and  fro. 
Trying  the  walls  forever  without  rest. 

All  day  I  feed  him  with  my  living  heart; 

But  when  the  night  puts  forth  her  dreams  and  stars, 

The  inexorable  Frenzy  reawakes: 
His  wrath  is  hurled  upon  the  trembling  bars, 
The  eternal  passion  stretches  me  apart, 

And  I  lie  silent — but  my  body  shakes. 


I 

DIM  WISDOMS 


NIGHT    HAS    ITS    FEAR 

NIGHT  has  its  fear: 
As  the  slow  dusk  advances,  and  the  day 
Fades  out  in  fire  along  the  starry  way, 
The  ancient  doubt  draw?  npnr 

Vague  shapes  of  dread- 
Soft  owl,  or  moth,  and  timid,  twittering  things — 
Move  through  the  growing  dark;  on  furtive  wings 

The  bat  flits  overhead. 

And  in  the  house 

The  death-watch  ticks,  the  dust  of  time  is  stirred 
With  timorous  footfalls,  in  the  night  is  heard 

The  gnawing  of  the  mouse. 

Through  the  old  room 

What  phantoms  throng,  what  shapes  that  to  and  fro 
Tremble,  and  lips  that  laughed  here  long  ago— 
Gone  back  into  the  gloom ! 

7 


NIGHT    HAS    ITS    FEAR 

A  whip-poor-will 

Bleakly  across  the  baleful  country  cries 
From  a  blurred  mouth;  and  from  the  west  replies 

Echo — and  all  is  still. 

Now  from  her  shell, 

Her  body's  prison,  with  the  ancient  doubt 
And  terror  stricken,  the  scared  soul  looks  out, 

Asking  if  all  be  well. 

Great  kings  have  been, 

Poets,  and  mighty  prophets — shapes  have  cried 
About  the  world,  or  moved  in  mournful  pride; 

And  are  no  longer  seen. 

From  many  lands 

Their  plaint  was  lifted;  from  how  many  a  shore 
Sorrows  have  wailed,  that  are  not  any  more ! 

They  sleep  with  folded  hands. 

They  have  their  day: 

Their  cry  is  loud  about  the  earth,  who  come 
To  the  one  end;  the  singing  lips  grow  dumb 

Always  in  the  one  way. 
8 


NIGHT    HAS    ITS    FEAR 

Though  they  implore, 
Brief  is  the  plea,  inflexible  the  fate ! 
Silence  has  the  lost  word;  and  then — the  great 

Silence,  forevermore. 

Pondering  these, 

The  fretful  spirit  in  bewilderment 
Quickens  with  a  vague  doubt,  and,  not  content, 

Broods — and  is  ill  at  ease. 

Her  being  is 

Throned  on  so  frail  a  pulse;  such  fleeting  breath 
Bears  up  her  dream  across  the  gulf  of  death 

And  the  obscure  abyss. 

Always  she  hears 

The  hurtling  chariots  of  the  hurrying  blood, 
Her  shuttling  breath  that  in  the  solitude 

Weaves  the  one  self  she  wears. 

Now  first  the  vast 

Veil  over  heaven  is  rent,  and  bares  the  whole 
Shining  Reality;  whereat  the  soul 

and  is  aj'lia^t  ! 
9 


NIGHT    HAS    ITS    FEAR 

Darkness  reveals 

The  tragic  truth;  her  will  sinks  hopeless  wings 
Before  the  inexorable  Fact  of  things, 

Humbling  the  dread  she  feels. 

With  the  old  Awes 
Confronted  and  the  flaming  Mystery, 
She  may  not  speak;  but  pondering,  suddenly 

Grows  silent,  and  withdraws. 

She  may  not  bear 

That  sight:  the  spangled  heavens,  from  east  to  west, 
Stretch  out  too  wide  the  confines  of  the  breast, 

Straining  in  wonder  there. 

Upon  what  Brow 

Of  awful  eminence — O  thought  that  stuns  !— 
Is  laid  that  chaplet  of  a  million  suns, 

Upon  what  Forehead  now? 

Who  was  it  wrought 
This  universal  glory  all  around, 
Of  glittering  worlds  forever  without  bound?— 

Great  Poet,  what  a  Thought ! 
10 


NIGHT    HAS    ITS    FEAR 

It  is  a  Word 

Unutterable  that  is  written  there; 
The  spirit,  gazing,  is  one  voiceless  prayer, 

Careless  if  it  be  heard. 

Her  thoughts  ascend, 

Star  beyond  star,  height  beyond  aching  height 
Upward,  in  adoration  infinite,  / 

Forever,  without  end. 

So  shall  it  be! 

Till  heaven  yield  her  sceptre;  till  the  throne 
Of  night  be  shaken,  and  the  Face  be  known 

Beyond  eternity: 

Till  God  divide 

And  rend  asunder  the  embroidered  hem 
Of  darkness;  till  the  starry  diadem 

And  crown  be  set  aside ! 


11 


THE  SORROWFUL  MASQUERADE 

EVEN  as  to  a  music,  stately  and  sad, 
The  young  girl's  feet  begin  to  move  in  a  dance, 
And  curiously,  for  joy,  shift  and  advance; 
So  to  a  mournful  waltz,  sombre  and  sweet, 
All  laughing  things  move  with  delighted  feet — 
(  So  all  things  that  draw  light  and  laughing  breath 
Move  to  the  mournful  waltz  of  life  and  death  :^ 
Comedy  is  a  girl  dancing  in  time 
To  the  tragic  pipes,  sorrowful  and  sublime; 
And  ever  she  laughs  back,  and  as  she  skips 
Mimics  the  mournful  music  with  her  lips; 
Then,  for  sheer  anger  at  her  own  pretense, 
Sobs  violently  at  her  own  vehemence; 
And  mocks  her  tears.     But  when  the  pipings  sleep, 
She  needs  must  cover  up  her  face  and  weep. 


OCTOBER    MOONLIGHT 

T  I  KAVEN  is  like  an  empty  room  to-night; 
*   *   From  rim  to  chilly  rim 
Wells  the  clear  radiance  of  the  cold  moonlight. 
And  the  earth-ways  are  dim. 

Who  has  departed  from  this  perfect  place ! 

What  fiery  one  here  set 
His  throne  in  splendor,  whom,  vanished  now,  the  face 

Of  heaven  remembers  yet ! 

Emptiness — emptiness — the  skies  are  bare. 

And  the  stark  earth  no  less 
Grows  vacant  as  a  memory:  everywhere 

Sleeps  the  cold  loveliness. 

Old  is  the  earth,  too  old;  her  voice  is  shrill 

.\Lr;iin-f   tin-  en. I  of  tiling 
To  the  inevitable  her  bitter  will 
Grows  humbler  as  she  sings. 
115 


OCTOBER  MOONLIGHT 

Now  from  my  breast  the  very  soul  takes  flight, 

Leaving  her  chambers  bare 
Of  all  save  lonely  memory  and  moonlight— 

And  Song  is  silent  there. 


14 


THE  FLESH  AND  THE  DREAM 

Till]  baffled  dreamer,  the  defeated  Christ 
That  for  your  love  upon  the  cross-tree  hung- 
O  take  Him  to  your  bosom,  give  Him  rest 
Close  at  the  wanton  wonder  of  your  breast, 
O  carnal  World,  forever  well  and  young ! 


15 


VAUDEVILLE 

WHEN  to  a  cheap  and  tawdry  tune  the  orchestra  cried 
out, 

Frantic,  in  violent  syncopation,  and  began 
Your  holy,  adorable  body  in  mournful  grace  to  move  about 
Through  the  old,  devious  motions,  the  device  of  man- 
How  suddenly  then,  silent  magnificence,  you  put  to  shame 

The  crowded  and  garish  theatre,  the  strangled  cries 
Of  flute  and  trumpet !   O  mortal  body,  bearer  of  our  flame 
Through  the  drear  lands  of  death,  flower  of  the  eterni 
ties ! 

Revered,  reviled,  wept  and  adored,   beseeched,  cried  out 

upon 

By  ravening  lips  of  the  ages — the  sacred  source  of  things, 
That  glimmered  in  Thrace,  that  shone  in  Rome,  that  swayed 

in  Babylon, 

Here  moves  to  the  vile  throb  of  castanets  and  strings. 

16 


VAUDEVILLE 

O  through  what  generations  have  you  lured,  what  secret 

ways, 

Man's  fainting  heart  to  be  reborn  !    \Vhat  splendors  move 
Deep  in  his  breast  when,  dolorous,  your  reluctant  beauty 

sways 
In  the  old  weary  rhythms  of  eternal  love ! 


17 


1914 

I  LIFT  my  gaze  beyond  the  night,  and  see. 
Above  the  banners  of  Man's  hate  unfurled, 
The  holy  figure  that  on  Calvary 

Stretched  arms  out  wide  enough  for  all  the  world. 


18 


THE    BELOVED 

IIFE,  Beloved,  I  lay  my  heart  against  Your  heart, 
*— '  Long,  long  I  peer  into  the  dark  pool  of  Your  eyes; 
Never  will  I  forsake  You,  O  adorable  One ! 

I  cannot  comprehend  You,  but  I  love  You. 
In  the  shadow  of  Your  locks  I  hide  my  eyes  from  the  terrors; 
But  You  are  not  greatly  concerned- 
Closer  and  closer  I  draw  toward  the  dear  Face. 

See — I  set  my  lips  against  Your  lips, 

But  You  do  not  answer: 

Steadfast  and  grave  beyond  me  Your  eyes  are  burning, 

As  of  one  that  dreams. 

I  am  clinging  here  at  Your  heart ! 

I  am  singing  my  love  of  You  for  sheer  joy ! 

Mother,  what  is  it  that  trembles  on  Your  lashes  so  soft— 

And  Your  lips  are  salt  as  the  taste  of  the  sea? 

Can  it  be  for  me  Your  eyes  are  brimming,  Mother, 
Even  as  they  smile? 

19 


THE    BELOVED 

Can  they  be  for  me,  these  drops  on  Your  lips  so  warm  ? 
Dear  One,  do  I  understand  at  last ! 

O  holy  draught,  wine  of  the  world,  bewildering  and  bitter 
sweet ! 

Sacred  tears,  from  the  depths  of  what  wild  love  welling ! 
Deeper  and  deeper  let  me  drink  and  draw- 
Nirvana,  divine  oblivion.  .  .  . 

Bitter  is  the  taste  of  Your  lips,  Beloved ! 

Though  I  lie  in  the  darkness,  yet  often  do  I  remember  You— 

and  wonder — 
And  the  touch  of  Your  lips,  how  strange,  and  how  sad. 


PROUD    DOOM 

'T'HE  crucifixion  of  Beauty  on  the  cross 

Of  mortal  destiny— the  eternal  law- 
The  thorny  crown  of  death  about  her  brows 
Fills  me  with  anger — then  with  sudden  awe: 

So  dear,  so  lovely  her  adorable  sorrow 

Shows  in  the  darkness,  'mid  the  tragic  doom, 

The  very  heart  in  me  leaps  up  with  laughter, 

And  hastens,  proud  and  secret,  toward  the  tomb. 


THE    SECRET    ONE 

HERE,  by  this  frame  and  network  of  the  flesh 
And  wires  of  her  control 
Surrounded,  central  in  her  subtle  mesh 
And  secret,  sits  the  soul, 

Urgent  through  all  the  body,  while  each  part 

Obeys,  and  all  are  one — 
While  in  her  dungeons  labors  the  lone  heart 

To  make  her  will  be  done. 

She  reins  the  forces  in  their  wild  career 

That  bear  her,  as  they  go, 
Over  the  dark  abyss;  and  knows  how  sheer 

Reaches  the  gulf  below. 

How  dubious  her  life  and  slenderly 
Hangs,  by  a  scarlet  thread, 

Between  eternity  and  eternity- 
She  guesses,  wise  in  dread ; 
22 


THE    SECRET    ONE 

And  ever  watchful,  ever  wary,  set 

In  the  centre  all  alone, 
Feels  'round  her  cautiously  if  any  threat 

Be  made  against  the  throne. 

Sometimes  along  her  nerves  the  voice  of  pain 

Bears  tidings  to  her  hate 
And  frantic  wrath,  that  the  old  foe  again 

Is  clamorous  at  the  gate- 
She  rages  up  and  down,  and  to  and  fro 

In  timid  anger  runs: 
If  the  frontiers  be  menaced,  it  is  known 

All  over,  and  at  once. 

She  hears  her  breast  of  sorrows  night  and  day 

At  labor;  'round  her  brood 
The  old  oblivions,  where  she  sits  at  bay; 

She  hears  the  battling  blood. 

Echoes  assail  her  from  far  worlds  that  lie 

Beyond  the  bourne  of  these— 
Contact  and  color  and  the  angry  cry 

Of  the  realities 

23 


THE    SECRET    ONE 

Beat  on  the  brain  forever;  the  high  dream, 

By  stratagem  of  speech, 
Enters  her  portals,  where  she  sits  supreme 

And  silent,  pondering  each: 

Weighing  and  challenging,  for  weal  or  woe, 

All  rumors,  sending  out 
The  emissaries  of  her  will,  that  go 

To  the  frontiers  about. 

But  most  she  loves  the  hour  that  beauty  brings, 

Of  rapture  and  release 
From  the  crude  hunger  and  the  cry  of  things, 

The  hour  of  her  peace — 

When,  by  the  inner  light  that  floods  her  cell, 

The  spirit,  even  as  here, 
Travails,  in  secrecy  and  joy,  to  tell 

Her  passion  and  her  fear. 

Now  to  the  listening  soul  in  you  who  read 

These  lines,  she  tells  it  all- 
How  dear  her  day,  how  dark  shall  be,  indeed, 

The  hour  when  night  must  fall. 


THE    UNDISSUADABLE 
AUSTERITY 

T  ESS  than  it  is  we  would  the  Truth  should  seem 
•-^       Holy  and  marvellous  the  Actual  is — 
But  stern  her  lips,  and  bitter  is  her  kiss 
Upon  the  brows  of  dream. 


BLIND    PLAYERS 


breaks,  and  the  old  drama 
Repeats  itself  anew: 
The  hind  wakes  to  be  hunted, 
The  huntsman  to  pursue  — 

The  lover  and  the  beloved, 

Each  one  doomed  to  his  part; 

The  victor  and  the  vanquished, 

The  hushed  and  the  hurrying  heart- 

In  terror  and  in  triumph 

They  play  it  through  again, 

The  old,  unchanging  drama 
Of  passion  and  of  pain, 

As  the  great  Will  has  willed  it, 
That,  in  all  forms  being  cast, 

Wars  on  Itself  forever. 

O  may  they  at  the  last— 

The  falcon,  and  the  fledgling 
He  stoops  to  from  the  sky; 
26 


BLIND    PLAYERS 

The  lips  that  are  so  eager, 

The  lips  that  would  deny- 
When  the  old  war  is  ended, 

When  the  stern  Will  is  done. 
Meet  in  eternal  pity 

And  know  themselves  as  one ! 


27 


TRAVAIL 

DEFORE  the  sacred  beauty  of  the  morn' 

How  fade  the  wrangling  wisdoms  of  the  earth ! 
Wisdom  is  beauty  in  the  womb,  unborn; 
Wisdom  is  beauty  laboring  for  birth. 

Wisdom,  the  ghost  of  Beauty,  in  the  wide 
Womb  of  the  world  lies  clamoring  for  life, 

While  the  white  Beauty,  the  immortal  Bride, 
Sits  throned  upon  the  summits  void  of  strife. 

So  the  bright  flower,  bending  from  the  soil, 
Sums  up  and  scorns  the  wisdom  of  the  sage; 

And  Helen's  beauty,  soaring  beyond  toil, 
The  laboring  beauty  of  the  poet's  page. 

So,  when  the  veils  of  mystery  are  furled, 

Earth's  wisdom  blooms  in  heaven's  beauty  above  .  .  , 
Beauty  is  all  the  wisdom  of  the  world 

Uttered  by  the  seraphic  lips  of  love! 


THE  POET  TELLS  OF 
HIS  LOVE 

TTOW  shall  I  sing  of  Her  that  is 

My  life's  long  rapture  and  despair- 
Sorrow  eternal — Loveliness, 

To  whom  each  heart-beat  is  a  prayer ! 

Utterly,  endlessly,  alone 

Possessing  me,  yet  unpossessed — 
The  dark,  the  drear  beloved  One 

That  takes  the  tribute  of  this  breast: 

Daemon  disconsolate,  in  vain, 

In  vain  petitioned  and  implored — 

How  many  a  midnight  of  disdain 
Darkly  and  dreadfully  adored ! 

Beauty,  the  virgin,  evermore 

Out  of  these  arras  with  laughter  fled — 
Vanished — a  voice  by  slope  and  shore 

Haunting  the  world — Illusion  dread — 
29 


THE  POET  TELLS  OF  HIS  LOVE 

Most  secret  Siren,  on  whose  coast, 

'Mid  spray  of  perishing  song,  are  hurled 

All  desolate  lovers,  all  the  lost 

Souls,  and  half-poets  of  the  world: 

Through  sleepless  nights  and  lonely  days 
In  tears  and  terror  served  and  sought — 

Light  beyond  light — the  supreme  Face 

That  blinds  the  adoring  eyes  of  thought ! 

How  shall  I  sing  of  Her  ?     Nay  all, 
All  song,  all  sorrow,  all  silence  of 

This  desperate  heart  that  is  Her  thrall, 
Trembles  and  tries  to  tell  my  love ! 


30 


THE    BURIED    DREAM 

I  HID  a  dream  amid  the  sands  of  Time, 
And  said,  "Now  will  I  go  upon  my  way— 
I  shall  be  free  henceforward  from  this  time, 
And  full  of  laughter  all  the  livelong  day." 

But  it  came  following  like  the  midnight  voice 
Of  my  true  love  behind  her  lattice-bars— 

And  it  came  following  like  the  silver  voice 

Of  my  lost  childhood  strayed  beyond  the  stars: 

Like  my  dead  self,  so  laughable,  so  sad, 

So  foolish  and  so  lovable  it  rang — 
That,  for  sheer  laughter,  I  was  very  sad, 

And  took  it  back  into  my  heart,  and  sang. 


81 


HAUNTED    EARTH 

TJEAVENatlast 

*  *   Is  bared,  and  the  whole  world  one  radiant  room- 
Black  are  the  shadows,  in  great  pools  of  gloom 
By  copse  and  thicket  cast. 

The  cattle  browse 

With  sound  of  gentle  breathing,  and  their  breath 
Is  mild  in  glimmering  meadows,  or  beneath 

Drooped  branches,  where  they  drowse; 

While  'mongst  the  chill 

Shadows,  and  cold,  clear  moonlight  all  about, 
A  single  bat  goes  dipping  in  and  out 

Softly;  and  all  is  still. 

Silence  around — 

Save  for  a  cricket !     Lapped  in  slunib'rous  peace 
Lie  hill  and  meadowland,  the  shining  seas 

Lap  on  them  without  sound. 

It  is  earth's  cry 

Lifted  in  adoration:  the  old  dream, 

32 


HAUNTED    EARTH 

Beauty,  is  with  her,  and  her  hour  supreme 
That  goes  so  swiftly  by. 

Too  well  she  knows 

The  sweet  Illusion,  from  no  earthly  shore 
Visitant,  the  bright  word  that  evermore 

Troubles  her  dark  repose. 

Her  heart  lies  bare — 

Drunken,  drunken,  she  lifts  a  dreamy  breast; 
Hour  by  hour,  in  rapture  and  unrest 

Flows  the  unending  prayer. 

The  path  of  night 

Beaches,  from  rim  to  rim,  a  radiant  road 
Whereon  the  exalted  Beauty  walks  abroad 

In  wonder  and  wild  light. 

Upon  what  eyes, 

Lifted  in  homesickness,  now  falls  again 
The  loveliness  that  haunts  the  world  with  pain- 
Light  out  of  Paradise ! 


33 


LONG    AGO 

AH,  once  your  quiet  eyes  were  calm  and  deep 
*»       And  wistful  with  much  dreaming;  long  ago 

Your  solemn  lips,  so  innocent  of  woe 
And  delicately  parted,  seemed  to  keep 

A  secret  still  unsaid,  and  murmured  low: 

But  that  wras  long  ago. 

And  I,  who  saw  and  loved  you  from  afar, 

Prayed  a  hushed  prayer,  the  first  I  ever  prayed, 
That  God  might  keep  you  safe;  and  unafraid 

I  looked  up  through  the  night  at  my  one  star, 
Moving  mysteriously  and  bright-arrayed. 
And  silently  I  prayed. 

While  you  passed  singing  tenderly  and  low, 

Wandering  through  life's  meadows  with  slow  tread, 
Death  laid  his  kiss  on  your  beloved  head: 

But  that  was  long  ago. 


34 


TCHAIKOVSKY:    FIFTH 
SYMPHONY 

MY  heart  cried  out  in  wonder:  Can  it  be, 
The  form,  from  which  this  thrilling  passion  flows 
On  tides  of  beauty  and  eternal  tone 
Audibly  now  before  the  very  sense 
Of  thronging  thousands,  somewhere  in  the  clay 
Of  Russia  lies,  with  folded  hands — relapsed 
Into  the  Formless? 

And  my  mind  replied: 
The  longing  that  so  labors  for  release 
Not  wholly  in  that  transient  form  was  trapped 
Wherein  we  perish  miserably  here — 
But  has  escaped  into  the  form  supreme, 
A  deathless  body;  and  now  walks  abroad 
Among  the  generations  of  mankind, 
Trailing  the  robes  of  the  immortal  woe. 

And  still  that  music  poured.     O  sacred  heart 
And  secret,  well-head  of  those  streams  of  song — 
Are  you  content !     How  is  it  with  you  now, 
O  breast  whose  sorrows  overflowed  the  world  ! 

35 


MIRROR 

ON  the  wide  sea  of  sleep 
I  launch  my  gliding  boat: 
Over  the  rhythmic  Deep 
On  flowing  tides  I  float. 

The  curving  shore  around 

Fades  in  the  pale  starlight— 

A  slumbering,  sleepy  sound 

Goes  drifting  through  the  night. 

It  is  the  music  of  dreams 
Along  the  horizon  blown, 

It  stirs  the  glimmering  streams 
Where  the  pale  stars  lie  strown. 

The  stars  shine  in  the  Deep, 

Reflected  from  afar; 
My  eyes  tremble  with  sleep, 

Reflecting  sea  and  star. 

My  eyes  look  up  at  me 

Out  of  the  mirrored  eyes, 
36 


MIRROR 

And  in  their  depths  I  see 

Mirrored  the  stars  and  skies. 

Around — around — around 

My  boat  whirls  with  the  stream; 
I  feel  a  dizzy  sound 

Around  me,  like  a  dream. 

Where  may  I  moor  my  bark  ? 

How  may  I  lift  my  head? 
What  is  that  silence?    Hark— 

The  sound  of  dreams  is  fled  ! 

The  breath  of  slumber  lies, 
Like  perfume,  on  the  Deep: 

Night  with  a  thousand  eyes 
Stares  at  herself  in  sleep. 


PLAINT 

BRIEF  is  Man's  travail  here,  and  transitory 
His  wrath  that  soon  is  spent- 
Brief  his  lament, 

Lifted  in  vain  against  the  harsh  decrees 
Of  the  high  Destinies 

That  move  not  for  the  murmur  of  his  woe: 
Even  as  snow 

On  sunny  meadows,  as  a  lover's  story 
Told  in  an  April  twilight  long  ago, 

Brief  is  he  even  as  these — 
His  little  hour  of  tumult  or  of  glory— 

And  to  what  end  devised  we  may  not  guess, 
Considering,  as  we  go 
Toward  the  same  shadows,  bearing  the  same  spark, 

His  vanity  and  utter  nothingness. 
Yet  in  the  mighty  Dark 

Dear  is  the  spirit;   grievously  we  know 

Earth  has  one  burden  more,  one  soul  the  less. 


38 


ANDANTE 

PHK  evening  steals  like  an  ocean  around  your  playing, 

Whose  perfect  tones  move  on  the  sombre  Deep 
With  a  grave  gesture,  and  sigh  into  a  sleep, 
George,  where  your  hands,  along  the  piano  straying, 
An  intricate  rhythm  keep. 

And  all  the  room  is  starry  with  your  dreaming, 
And  limitless  and  vague.    O  the  white  square 
Of  the  window-pane  shimmers  behind  you  there, 

Framing  the  street,  where  the  first  lights  are  gleaming. 
Transfigured  now  and  fair ! 

Now,  while  the  heaven  of  night  grows  vast  above  her. 

The  soul  from  her  lone  dream  has  sure  release; 

The  tumult  and  the  ancient  struggles  cease — 
The  wars  that  Beauty  wages  on  her  lover 

Dwindle  into  a  peace, 

W  hen  Schumann  speaks  so  firmly  and  so  sadly. 
And  all  the  twilight  rustles,  wave  on  wave. 
O,  at  that  smile  his  wondering  spirit  gave, 

39 


ANDANTE 

What  new  smile  in  all  things  shines  back  so  gladly, 
Grown  dignified  and  grave ! 

The  curtains  by  the  window  rise  and  flutter, 
The  ornaments  on  the  mantel,  row  on  row, 
Seem  touched  with  a  melancholy  of  long  ago — 

What  is  it  the  music  dreams,  but  cannot  utter  ? 
Schumann — we  know,  we  know. 

Ah  George,  what  shall  be  said  to  you  who  feel  it- 
All  the  half-hope  and  passion  unexpressed 
When  twilight  heaves  more  gently  in  the  breast ! 

Ah  George,  but  you,  when  words  would  fain  reveal  it, 
Smile — and  divine  the  rest. 

O  wrap  me  in  Beethoven's  storm  and  thunder ! 
My  baffled  spirit,  with  abated  breath, 
Flutters  upon  the  verge  of  life  and  death— 

And  all  my  being,  whirled  along  in  wonder, 
Dies  between  breath  and  breath. 

Let  me  endure,  within  a  single  pulsing 

Of  the  quick  heart,  in  a  storm  of  showering  rain 
Of  sound,  all  joy,  all  grief— each  breath  again 

40 


ANDANTE 

Live  through  a  life  complete,  in  one  convulsing 
Moment  of  rapturous  pain  ! 

Silence — the  lamplight,  through  the  window  streaming. 
Falls  on  the  listless  keyboard,  smooth  and  white- 
Remembered  music  dreams  in  the  dull  light; 

And  you,  too,  George,  sit  silently  and  dreaming, 
Alone,  into  the  night. 


41 


'THE  DEAR  MYSTERY 

JOY,  and  the  triumph  and  the  doom  of  gladness 
Make  in  my  breast  a  music  sweet  as  sadness; 
Shall  I  not  sing  for  sorrow,  and  again 
Cry  out,  for  the  sheer  joyousness  of  pain ! 
For  all  life's  moods  go  murmuring  like  strings 
In  a  low  chord,  and  all  things  sound  all  things, 
Through  alternations  of  the  grave  and  glad: 
Yet,  in  the  end,  all  things  are  grave  and  sad. 
I  feel  all  things,  but  cannot  comprehend; 
And  run,  laughing  and  weeping,  to  the  end 
Of  the  dear  mystery,  the  fated  race— 
And  the  deep  darkness  covers  up  my  face. 


IN    THE    DARK    CITY 

THERE  is  a  harper  plays 
Through  the  long  watches  of  the  lonely  night 
When,  like  a  cemetery, 

Sleeps  the  dark  city,   with   her   millions,   laid  each  in  his 
tomb. 

I  feel  it  in  my  dream,  but  when  I  wake- 
Suddenly,  like  some  secret  thing  not  to  be  overheard, 
It  ceases— 
And  the  gray  night  grows  dumb 

Only  in  memory 

Linger  those  veiled  adagios,  fading,  fading  .  .  . 
Till,  with  the  morning,  they  are  lost. 

What  door  was  opened  then  ? 

What  worlds,  undreamed  of,  lie  around  us  in  our  sleep 
That  yet  we  may  not  know? 
Where  is  it  one  sat  playing 

Over  and  over,  with  such  high  and  dreadful  peace, 
The  passion  and  sorrow  of  the  eternal  doom  ? 

48 


II 


SPACE    AND    SOLITUDE 


IMMENSITY 

AT  noon  I  watched 
In  the  large  hollow  of  eternal  heaven 
A  soaring  hawk  climb  slowly  toward  the  sun 
Through  gyres  of  adoration  without  end. 
His  flight  was  a  great  prayer  .... 


47 


SEA-HORIZONS 

THE  sorrowful  expanse  from  heaven  to  heaven, 
From  zone  to  zone,  from  deep  to  height  above, 
The  mute  arch  of  the  everlasting  heaven 
Bends  over  me  with  Your  unwearied  love. 

Immeasurable,  unutterable,  and  soundless — 

Wide  as  the  east  from  the  west  Your  love  is  wide; 

The  unfathomable  distances  are  boundless 
Infinite  tenderness  on  every  side. 

Against  the  dark  strength  of  Your  huge  endurance 
My  little  being  beats  her  baffled  wings, 

Lifts  her  shrill  voice,  and  wounds  the  calm  assurance 
And  tenderness  of  Your  large  evenings. 

In  the  vast  robes  of  Your  serene  compassion 

She  hides  her  soiled  and  burning  face  of  shame— 

Your  solemn  and  inexorable  passion 

Lifts  her  blurred  eyes  to  meet  Your  glance  of  flame. 

As  bread  that  for  my  daily  fare  is  broken, 
The  eternal  loveliness  before  me  spread— 

48 


SEA-HORIZONS 

Unutterable  gesture — word  unspoken, 
In  the  proud  silences  forever  said ! 

The  sun  puts  forth  his  strength,  the  reaches  shimmer 
With  inarticulate  rapture,  and  the  proud 

Waters  are  thrilled;   the  fields  of  ocean  glimmer 
With  shifting  light  and  overshadowing  cloud. 

Noon  upon  noon  in  heaven  takes  up  his  station, 
Day  follows  night,  and  night  succeeds  to  day: 

Your  infinite  and  lonely  meditation 

Sinks  with  the  sunset  down  the  starry  way. 

Veiled  is  the  Vast:   the  heaven  of  evening  burning, 
Reveals  on  the  large  waters  of  the  sea 

Hopelessness — hopelessness — the  patient  yearning 
And  dumb  caress  of  the  Immensity. 

What  message  have  You  left  for  me,  what  token 

Of  Your  lone  love,  whose  laboring  Will  has  wrought 

The  firmament  over  my  head,  and  spoken 

Unto  my  nothingness  Your  starry  Thought ! 

Sorrowful  is  the  mighty  Heart  that  reaches 

Around  this  brief  and  scornful  heart  of  mine— 

49 


SEA-HORIZONS 

The  dim  curve  of  the  melancholy  beaches. 
And  vacancies  along  the  lone  sea-line. 

In  the  huge  longing  of  the  far  sea-spaces, 

The  tremulous  rim  about  the  waters  curled, 

Waits  the  eternal  Gentleness,  and  traces 
His  sad  horizons  'round  the  fading  world. 

Cloud  beyond  cloud,  the  arch  of  heaven  goes  over- 
Steep  beyond  steep,  the  patient  skies  descend : 

The  illimitable  wastes  and  waves  discover 
Loneliness — loneliness — without  an  end. 

Inexorable  Compassion,  may  I  never 

Reach  the  last  verge  and  limits  of  Your  love ! 
Beyond  me,  still  beyond  me  melt  forever 

The  eternal  margins,  fading  as  I  move. 


50 


r 

OF    DAY    CAME    NIGHT 

WE  lay  by  the  sea,  and  knew 
Darkness  must  make  us  one: 
Heaven  was  thrilled  clean  through 

By  the  trumpets  of  the  sun, 
The  sea  burned  gold  and  blue. 

The  sand  in  the  pale  heat 

Was  parched  as  desert  sand — 

Your  wrist  where  the  veins  meet, 
The  cool  veins  of  your  hand. 

Made  thirst  seem  bitter-sweet. 

Never  a  word  was  said 

Of  what  must  be  so  soon; 

In  longing  and  in  dread 
The  golden  afternoon 

Burned  down,  till  dusk  was  shed. 

It  was  not  hope,  nor  fear, 

Yet  something  of  them  both, 
That  held  us  trembling  here, 
51 


OF    DAY    CAME    NIGHT 

Half  eager  and  half  loath 
For  darkness,  dread  but  dear. 

Few  were  the  words  were  spoken, 
But  in  each  other's  eyes 

We  read  the  certain  token 
That  sealed  our  destinies— 

Our  wings  of  pride  were  broken. 

So,  while  the  waters  paled 
Around  us,  and  the  west 

Fainted,  our  hearts  that  failed, 
In  silence  were  confessed. 

Silence  at  last  prevailed. 

And  now  up  her  clear  stair 
The  evening-star  began 

To  climb,  where  heaven  was  bare 
A  homing  fish-hawk  ran 

Down  avenues  of  air. 

Night  swallowed  up  the  sun, 
And  darkness,  like  a  hood, 

Sank — and  the  sea  breathed  on; 
In  silence  and  solitude 

The  eternal  will  was  done. 
52 


PILGRIM 

TTHE  cold  wind  cries  across  the  rolling  dunes, 

*     The  gray  sails  fleck  the  margins  of  the  world: 
I  watch  the  rolling  dunes  along  the  barren  sky, 

And  wan,  white  waters  by  the  swift  wind  hurled. 

O  where  are  Queen  Faustina,  and  Babylon,  and  Tyre, 
And  pale  Troy,  lost  in  a  silver  mist  of  tears — 

And  I,  O  earth,  your  child,  more  old  than  all  these  others. 
What  have  you  done  to  me  these  many  thousand  years ! 


BY    THE    GRAY    SEA 

WHERE  the  gray  sea  lay  sad  and  vast 
You  turned  your  head  away, 
And  we  sat  silently  at  last — 
There  was  no  word  to  say: 

By  the  thunder, 

By  the  iron  thunder  of  the  sea. 

We  could  not  speak,  for  the  lost  hope 

Of  the  glad  days  before; 
We  sat  beside  the  long  sea-slope, 

Watching  the  endless  shore — 

By  the  thunder, 

By  the  iron  thunder  of  the  sea. 

So  that,  as  in  the  old  despair, 
I  reached  you  pleading  hands; 

But  you  sat  pale  and  helpless  there, 
Beside  the  barren  sands: 

By  the  thunder, 

By  the  iron  thunder  of  the  yea! 
54 


THE    FISH-HAWK 

ON  the  large  highway  of  the  awful  air  that  flows 
Unbounded  between  sea  and  heaven,  while  twilight 

screened 
The  sorrowful  distances,  he  moved  and  had  repose; 

On  the  huge  wind  of  the  Immensity  he  leaned 
His  steady  body  in  long  lapse  of  flight — and  rose 

Gradual,  through  broad  gyres  of  ever-climbing  rest, 
Up  the  clear  stair  of  the  eternal  sky,  and  stood 

Throned  on  the  summit !     Slowly,  with  his  widening  breast. 
Widened  around  him  the  enormous  Solitude, 

From  the  gray  rim  of  ocean  to  the  glowing  west. 

Headlands  and  capes  forlorn  of  the  far  coast,  the  land 

Rolling  her  barrens  toward  the  south,  he,  from  his  throne 

Upon  the  gigantic  wind,  beheld:  he  hung — he  fanned 
The  abyss  for  mighty  joy,  to  feel  beneath  him  strown 

Pale  pastures  of  the  sea,  with  heaven  on  either  hand— 

The  world  with  all  her  winds  and  waters,  earth  and  air. 
Fields,  folds,  and  moving  clouds.     The  awful  and  adored 

55 


THE    FISH-HAWK 

Arches  and  endless  aisles  of  vacancy,  the  fair 

Void  of  sheer  heights  and  hollows  hailed  him  as  her  lord 
And  lover  in  the  highest,  to  whom  all  heaven  lay  bare ! 

Till  from  that  tower  of  ecstasy,  that  baffled  height, 

Stooping,  he  sank;  and  slowly  on  the  world's  wide  way 

Walked,  with  great  wing  on  wing,  the  merciless,  proud  Might, 
Hunting  the  huddled  and  lone  reaches  for  his  prey 

Down  the  dim  shore — and  faded  in  the  crumbling  light. 

Slowly  the  dusk  covered  the  land.     Like  a  great  hymn 
The  sound  of  moving  winds  and  waters  was;  the  sea 

Whispered  a  benediction,  and  the  west  grew  dim 

Where  evening  lifted  her  clear  candles  quietly  .  .  . 

Heaven,  crowded  with  stars,  trembled  from  rim  to  rim. 


56 


DISDAINFUL    BEAUTY 

ON  the  wide  waste  the  web  of  twilight,  trembling 
Hangs  low  with  stars  and  night; 
The  dying  day  in  the  worn  west,  dissembling, 
Crowns  his  defeat  with  light. 

Here  by  the  grave,  gray  sea  my  soul  sinks  crying, 

By  beauty  stabbed  to  death— 
"O,  in  the  dusk  of  the  world,  let  me,  too,  dying, 

Mix  with  all  these  my  breath !" 

There  is  no  answer.     In  the  cold  heavens  shining, 

Star  trembles  unto  star: 
The  virgin  moon  in  the  clear  west  declining 

Hangs,  like  a  scimitar. 


MY    LONELY    ONE 

EVEN  as  a  hawk's  in  the  large  heaven's  hollow 
Are  the  great  ways  and  gracious  of  your  love: 
No  lesser  flight  or  wearier  wing  may  follow 

In  those  broad  gyres  where  you  rest  and  move. 

Most  merciless,  most  high,  most  proud,  most  lonely— 
In  the  clear  space  between  the  sky  and  sea 

Wheel  her  huge  orbits,  where  the  sea-winds  only 
Wander  the  sun-roads  of  Immensity. 

Yet  have  I  known  your  heart  and  of  what  fashion 
Your  love,  how  great,  how  hardly  to  be  borne — 

Your  tenderness,  too  perfect  for  compassion, 

Your  divine  strength,  too  pure  and  proud  for  scorn. 

You  are  most  beautiful,   but  it  is  given 
But  few  to  find  you,  fewer  still  to  keep 

Your  high  path  through  the  solitude  of  heaven, 
My  lonely  one,  your  watch  upon  the  Deep. 

Now  toward  the  gold  glow  of  the  sunset's  splendor 
Veer  your  great  vans.     What  haven  in  the  west 
58 


MY    LONELY   ONE 

Now  draws  you— while  the  mellowing  light  makes  tender 
Your  dripping  plumes — what  islands  of  the  blest  ? 

Lift  me,  O  lift  me  up  to  you  forever, 

Beautiful  Terror  !     Let  your  sacred  might 

Stoop  to  me  here,  and  save — O  let  me  never 
Sink  from  you  now,  to  share  a  lesser  flight ! 

Even  as  I  pray,  my  wings  of  longing  fail  me, 
And  my  heart  flags.     In  solitude  you  move 

Down  the  night's  shore:   not  praying  shall  avail  me. 
To  lift  me,  fallen  from  your  faultless  love. 


59 


Ill 

THE    LOST    TRAVELLER'S    DREAM 


WILD   THOUGHT 

SURF  of  song  upon  my  heart 
Breaks  forever,  where  thou  art 


The  dark  ocean  in  my  breast, 
Of  wild  love,  may  never  rest: 

Still  one  thought  upon  her  shore 
Breaks  in  dream  forevermore ! 


JOURNEY'S    END 

CORGIVE  me,  dear,  if  I  have  lost  my  way, 
In  coming  home  to  you 

Through  storm  and  shadow  of  the  gathering  night 
If  I  did  stray, 

Still  I  was  seeking,  and  I  never  knew 

How  near  me  burned  the  dear  and  friendly  light. 

Now  at  your  door,  ere  the  great  Dark  begin, 
Alone  I  stand,  and  knock: 

Say  not  it  is  too  late  that  I  have  come — 
O  take  me  in, 

For  I  am  yours !    Darling,  unlock,  unlock — 
All  Time  to  this  was  but  a  journey  home ! 


BELATED    LOVE 

home  to  me,  are  you  come  home  to  me, 
O  heart  of  mine — hut  in  what  dolorous  guise  ! 
And  the  great  hour,  O  'twas  otherwise 
Ixive  had  imagined  it  in  days  to  be ! 
These  pleading  hands — these  lips — How  dreadfully, 
At  what  strange  lips  and  in  what  alien  eyes 
Have  you  sought  mine  ?    Beneath  what  darkening  skies 
Come  home  to  me  at  last,  come  home  to  me  ? 

I  would  not  know  the  reason:   here  upon 

This  breast  of  sorrows  loose  your  aching  breast; 

Tell  me  again  and  yet  again,  and  say 
Still  the  eternal  word,  still  babble  on 

Your  voiceless  tale  of  some  unhappy  quest — 

How  in  the  night  and  storm  you  lost  your  way. 


A    LEAVE-TAKING 

WELL  I  remember  it,  that  night  in  May, 
That  last,  sweet  night  in  the  Old  World  long  ago, 
The  last  ere  my  departure — the  dark  room 
That  brooded  'round  us,  and  the  drowsy  breath, 
Out  of  the  courtyard,  of  the  linden-trees, 
Pungent  and  sad.    Only  your  hand  I  felt, 
Reached  to  me  in  the  darkness;  and  the  beat 
All  through  its  fingers  of  the  unconscious  blood, 
Your  life  at  battle,  in  the  silence  told 
Immortally  to  mine  its  plaintive  tale 
And  doom  eternal — only  your  hand  I  felt, 
Reached  to  me  in  the  darkness — yet  it  seemed 
In  your  hand's  touch  I  touched  your  very  self, 
Your  very  presence,  changeable,  careless,  wild— 
But  O  how  poignant — sharp  with  all  delight, 
And  gracious  with  dear  bounties  to  bestow, 
How  greatly  granted !     Drowsily  then  at  last, 
In  the  old  way,  you  begged  me  for  some  legend 
Out  of  my  boyhood's  record,  some  romance 
From  the  far  world  that  bore  me;  and  my  voice, 
In  the  sweet,  alien  tongue,  your  mother-tongue, 

66 


A    LEAVE-TAKING 

Moved  through  the  darkness  with  a  peace  unfeigned- 
For  a  grave  peace  was  on  us,  and  the  fear 
That  thrilled  the  midnight,  fell  away.     The  street 
Slumbered,  save  where,  departing,  like  a  ghost's, 
Faint  footfalls  down  the  farthest  distance  sighed; 
And  dwindled  out  forever.  ...     So  you  slept. 

Well  I  remember  it,  that  night  in  May— 
The  sleep,  the  hushed  awakenings,  full  of  dread, 
From  haunted  meres  of  horror  and  disdain, 
From  dreams  of  terror — and  the  mad  return 
Into  the  bounteous  pity  of  two  arms, 
The  comfort  and  the  kindness.     O  the  return 
Forever  and  forever,  wild  and  sad, 
Seraphic  with  all  weariness  and  pain, 
Insatiate  with  all  love — as  if  to  slake 
In  one  abandon  all  the  desperate  drought 
Of  the  years  to  come !     Upon  my  own  I  felt 
The  wet,  salt  quivering  of  your  lips,  and  all 
Your  being  fold  me  in,  urgent  to  save, 
Urgent  to  hide  the  approaching  loneliness. 
Our  bitter  portion;   prismed  in  tears,  the  dusk 
Swam  'round  with  dizzy  color:  the  nightingales, 
Beauty's  disdain  above  the  war  of  things, 
Beauty's  high  pity  from  her  virgin  heights, 

67 


A   LEAVE-TAKING 

Our  meeting  hearts  pierced  with  a  single  pang — 
Like  a  bright  sword  of  sorrow  through  the  breast 
Driven,  and  like  a  bruising  sword  withdrawn. 

The  sun  arose — 

Fled  were  the  nightingales,  the  love,  the  joy— 
And  with  him  rose  at  last  the  relentless  fear, 
Like  a  harsh  face  never  to  be  pushed  back, 
Between  your  face  and  mine;   till  all  the  terror, 
The  loneliness,  the  irrevocable  fate, 
In  the  dim  twilight  hugged  me,  and  a  cry, 
Up  from  my  self  to  your  self,  would  have  rent 
My  hesitant  lips,  in  the  great  need,  to  you 
Turned  for  the  last  compassion.  .  .  .     But  you  slept. 
At  peace  you  lay.     Over  you  in  the  dawn 
I  leaned,  and  knew  you  truly  what  you  were. 

Then  a  great  love 

Triumphing  over  sorrow,  like  the  light 
Clearing  the  west  when  sunset's  wrath  has  waned 
Before  the  risen  stars — a  mystery — welled 
Up  through  me  radiant,  helpless  where  you  lay 
In  the  calm  pose  of  sleep:   and  above  Time, 
Our  little  passion,  and  the  circumstance 
Of  temporal  tumult,  self  to  self  we  met; 

68 


A    LEAVE-TAKING 

And  sundered  reverent.  .  .  .     Faintest  breath  of  flowers 

Stirred  in  the  twilight  fragrantly,  and  there 

The  pathos  of  our  days  together  filled  me 

With  a  new  wonder — flooding  on  me  came 

A  host  of  memories,  as  to  one  long  dead, 

Lifted  beyond  his  living;  till  all  seemed 

Marvellous  and  immortal  and  benign. 

And  now 

The  hour  was  come.     Beside  your  quiet  breast 
I  begged  forgiveness  for  my  many  sins 
Done  to  you,  though  unwitting — all  the  hurt- 
In  a  swift  prayer,  and  even  for  this  last- 
To  wake  you  to  your  sorrow.     And  your  lips 
Forgave  me — yes,  in  the  silence.     So  I  touched 
Your  lids  with  kisses.     And  you  woke,  and  wept. 

But  brave  to  the  end  with  a  heart-breaking  bravery- 
Gallant  and  gracious,  dear  with  sacred  eyes, 
You  let  me  go.     With  a  half-kiss  we  parted. 

II 

Along  the  city-ways 

Already  day's  vehement  tumult  had  begun: 
Through  street  and  justled  alley,  court  and  square, 
The  tireless  and  eternal  Heart  poured  forth 

69 


A    LEAVE-TAKING 

Its  myriad  human  faces,  grave  or  glad, 
On  the  old  course  of  toil  (a  choral  hymn 
From  the  lips  of  Life)  each  face  a  testimony 
Of  some  prefiguring  love.     O  the  delight, 
The  incredible  bounty  and  sustaining  will 
Of  passionate  longing,  peopling  all  the  earth— 
And  the  joy  of  man  and  woman  !     The  laughing  boys ! 
The  milkman  clanking  along  in  his  cart,  and  there 
Two  bonneted  old  women,  and  there  a  thief, 
Perhaps,  with  a  night's  booty  sneaking  home ! 
Yet  solemn  all  and  sacred,  with  new  eyes 
I  saw  them  then,  and  in  each  face  I  seemed 
With  a  new  soul  to  read  the  soul  beneath; 
Through  love  and  pain  and  sorrow  having  passed 
Into  the  breast  of  all  humanity- 
Through  love  and  sorrow.     Yes,  and  for  your  sake, 
Being  human,  all  things  human  touched  to  love 
This  heart  of  mine,  made  holy;   and  the  thought 
Of  the  million  other  hearts  beyond  the  dawn— 
The  gladness,  and  the  sadness,  and  the  pain- 
Came  back  upon  me  like  a  lifting  music, 
Beautiful,  and  most  sorrowful,  and  divine. 

Till  a  vast  compassion 

Up  through  the  springs  of  all  my  being  welled 

70 


A   LEAVE-TAKING 

Intolerably!     Ah,  even  as  to  myself, 
Unfaithful  the  exuberant  Bounty  stooped 
With  arms  of  pity;  so  I  longed  to  do — 
To  lose  myself  at  last  in  the  Great  Self 
That  beams  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust, 
Carelessly  shedding  radiant  light  around: 
Compassing  finite  hate  with  infinite  love, 
With  beauty,  ugliness,  and  death  with  life! 

So  through  that  street  of  pouring  souls  I  passed, 
Torn  between  grief  and  ecstasy.    But  none 
Guessed  the  immortal  secret  that  I  bore 
Close  at  the  fluttering  heart— the  fear — the  joy— 
The  very  beat  and  memory  in  my  blood, 
The  exquisite  sense  and  lingering  pain  of  you. 


71 


BUT    LOVE- 

CLOWING  in  the  sunlight  here, 

The  river  shines  like  a  glass, 
Even  as  it  did  last  year; 
On  the  hillside  the  grass 
Bows,  as  the  breezes  pass — 

But  my  love  is  gone,  my  love  is  gone. 

Where  is  she — where,  and  how? 
Has  she  forgotten  me  yet? 

Ah,  she  has  forgotten  me  now ! 
She  is  too  lovely  for  regret: 
Would  that  I  ever  could  forget, 

My  love  is  gone,  my  love  is  gone ! 

It  is  so  still — so  still  .  .  . 

The  sound  of  a  rumbling  train 
Rushes  into  the  hill. 

Autumn  comes  again 

With  the  old  wonder  and  pain — 

But  love  comes  never  again 


72 


ANNE 

DELOVED— O  adorable  and  false— 

U  Whom  have  you  taken  now  in  the  dear  toils  ? 

By  what  pale  margins  do  your  footsteps  stray, 

Or  what  enchanted  wood  ?     What  valleys  hold 

The  lily  of  your  loveliness  ?     What  hills 

Have  known  your  weight  upon  them,  what  far  shores  ? 

Twilight  comes  tenderly,  while  evening  lifts 
Along  the  pallid  rim  her  lonely  star — 

O  happy  heart  on  which  your  heart  is  laid ! 


73 


THE    SILENCE 

IN  the  evening,  in  the  quiet  Park,  we  walked  together 
After  so  many  and  after  so  many  years — 
We  walked  again  in  the  evening,  in  the  warm  May  weather, 
After  the  partings  and  tears. 

And  under  the  splendor,  under  the  starry  skies, 

We  walked,  without  sound  or  sigh,  in  a  calm  unbroken; 

As  the  dead  walk  together  in  a  long-lost  Paradise- 
Silent,  with  no  word  spoken. 


74 


EXULTATION 

BEFORE  the  dawn  the  very  thought  of  you, 
That  wakes  me,  as  the  morning  wakes  the  night, 
Floods  all  my  heart  with  most  exultant  joy. 

The  thought  of  you  that  rises  with  the  stars, 

When  evening  wheels  all  glittering  through  the  dark. 

Floods  all  my  heart  with  most  exultant  joy. 

O  life  and  joy  and  breath  and  death  of  me. 
With  every  breath  I  draw  you  in  like  air ! 
O  I  shall  die  of  you,  of  you,  of  you ! 

Though  now  you  banish  me  forevermore, 
Never  to  look  upon  your  face  again— 
Think  you  that  I  shall  sorrow  for  my  love  ? 

Though  I  shall  lie  upon  my  bed  of  death 
And  know  you  have  forgotten  me  forever— 
Think  you  that  I  shall  sorrow  for  my  love? 

0  life  and  joy  and  breath  and  death  of  me, 

1  shall  cry  out  exultant — and  lie  dead ! 
O  I  shall  die  of  you,  of  you,  of  you ! 

75 


EXULTATION 

0  love,  I  love  you  better  than  you  know ! 

1  love  you  as  the  water  loves  the  sea. 

I  love  you  as  the  twilight  loves  the  dark. 

The  trumpets  of  the  morning,  to  my  heart 
From  shining  towers  blow  the  thought  of  you; 
The  waves  of  evening  flood  my  heart  with  you. 

O  life  and  joy  and  breath  and  death  of  me, 
With  every  breath  I  draw  you  in  like  air ! 
O  I  shall  die  of  you,  of  you,  of  you ! 


76 


SONG    OF    SONGS 

MY  heart  is  like  a  shady  prove 
That  harbors,  for  a  June, 
My  thoughts,  like  song-birds  mad  with  love 
Under  the  moon. 

On  all  the  windy  boughs  they  sit 

And  in  the  blowing  grass- 
But  one  bird  silently  enters  it, 

And  sings,  alas! 

Then  all  the  rest  grow  sad  and  still 

That  made  a  happy  noise: 
There  is  no  sound  on  all  the  hill 

But  that  one  voice, 

Faint  with  the  memories  in  his  breast- 
It  is  the  thought  of  you— 

And  when  it  ceases,  all  the  rest 
Are  silent,  too. 


77 


SORROWFUL    FREEDOM 

T  ONG  days  I  begged  of  my  heart  to  be 
"     Released  from  a  love  that  haunted  me— 
The  memory  of  a  last  embrace, 
A  tyrannous  and  a  lovely  face. 

"Free  me,"  I  said,  "from  an  old  love, 
The  memory  and  the  might  thereof- 
Free  to  follow  and  take  my  fill 
Of  beauty  and  laughter  where  I  will." 

Never  a  word  my  heart  replied: 
But  on  a  day  the  old  love  died; 
Vanished,  never  to  come  again, 
All  the  passion  and  all  the  pain. 

Come — we  are  free  to  take  our  fill 
Of  beauty  and  laughter  where  we  will— 
O  heart,  are  we  free  forevermore 
From  the  old  sorrow  we  loved  before ! 


78 


STARLESS    MORNING 

TOWARD  starless  morning,  when  deep  night  had  bowed 
On  slumber's  pillow  my  unhappy  head, 
Through  the  dim  room  it  drifted  like  a  cloud— 
And  swayed  in  silence  by  my  lonely  bed. 

What  had  they  done  to  you,  that  dumbly  so 

You  covered  with  your  hands  your  quiet  face- 
Dear,  out  of  kindness,  that  I  might  not  know 

What  horror  there  had  wrought  its  dark  disgrace ! 

It  was  those  hands,  too  passionately,  too  well 

Ix)ved,  that  betrayed  you — O  most  piteous  guest ! 

And  to  my  heart,  in  the  intolerable 

Rage  of  despair,  that  shadow  I  had  pressed, 

Mingling  in  a  shrill  cry  our  grief  supreme— 

My  sweet — my  pretty !     But,  as  I  had  drawn 

That  anguish  to  my  arms,  they  clasped  a  dream; 

And  heaven  glimmered  with  the  approaching  dawn. 


79 


PHANTOM 

ALONG  the  edge  of  the  great,  moving  sea — 
That  moaned  forever  on  her  barren  bars, 
The  old,  sad  love  came  back  again  to  me, 
Moving  quietly  under  the  quiet  stars. 

O  sad  love,  do  not  smile  upon  me  so, 

Nodding  so  gently  with  your  little  head — 
All  the  old  wonder  of  your  eyes  is  dead, 

And  the  sea-winds  have  chilled  you  long  ago! 


80 


LEGEND 

WHERE  are  you  hid  from  me,  beloved  one 
That  I  am  seeking  through  the  lonely  world 
A  wanderer,  on  my  way  home  to  you  ? 

Dark  is  the  night  and  perilous  the  road: 
At  many  a  breast  in  longing  have  I  leaned, 
At  many  a  wayside  worshipped;  and  my  heart 
Is  tired  from  long  travelling. 

Perhaps 

In  centuries  to  come  you  wait  for  me, 
And  are  as  yet  an  iris  by  the  stream 
Lifting  her  single  blossom,  or  the  faint 
Tremulous  haze  upon  the  hills — and  we 
Have  missed  each  other. 

O  if  it  be  so, 

Then  may  this  song  reach  to  the  verge  of  doom— 
Ages  unborn — to  find  you  where  you  are, 
My  lonely  one;  and  like  a  murmuring  string, 
Faint  with  one  music,  endlessly  repeat 
81 


LEGEND 

To  you,  not  even  knowing  I  was  yours, 
Her  plaintive  burden  from  the  dolorous  past: 
Telling  of  one  upon  a  hopeless  quest- 
How  in  the  dark  of  Time  he  lost  his  way ! 


IV 
THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 


H( )THKH.  from  what  dim  world  of  lonely  light. 
Trembling  on  heaven's  pinnacles  to-night, 
Is  lifted  your  sad  face  of  love  while  you 
Stare  upward  toward  me,  staring  upward,  too, 
At  that  faint  flame  which  is  your  home,  between 
The  leafy  branches  of  these  poplars  seen — 
So  hushed,  so  far !     Perhaps  to-night  you  scan 
Your  starry  heaven  for  the  star  of  Man, 
Ili.L'h  in  the  trellis  of  eternity 
And  glittering  arches  hung;  jxrhaps  like  me 
You,  too,  look  up  and  wonder.     Is  it  fair, 
That  world  of  yours  ?     Are  there  great  cities  there, 
Populous  millions,  hearts  that  beat  as  these, 
Clear  meadows  and  far  mountains,  shoreless  seas, 
Shadows  of  moving  armies,  thrones  that  shake  ? 
Does  the  heart  thrill  for  love  there,  does  it  break- 
Tell  me,  are  there  hushed  gardens,  quiet  tombs? 
And  mighty  poets  weaving  at  their  looms 
The  old,  dim  wisdoms  that  out  weary  Time;^ 
And  saints,  and  lifted  saviours,  and  sublime 
Faiths  and  high  fortitudes  beyond  belief? 
—All  blotted  out  by  one  small  i>oplar  leaf 
In  the  light  wind  of  languid  summer  stirred ! 

s:, 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

Brother,  what  news  out  of  the  night,  what  word 

From  the  frontiers  of  mind  beyond  our  ken, 

Of  mysteries  unimagined  yet  of  men, 

Compassed  by  travail  of  yourj>pirit  ?     O 

Could  you  but  reach  to  usJ^ACould  we  but  know 
I  Across  the  imperturbable  old  Dark 
i  Some  answering  glimmer  of  the  ancient  Spark 

Lifted — some  token,  tangible  to  sense, 

Of  the  indomitable  Intelligence 

That  thrones  on  matter — language  visible — 

Crying,  "Eternity — and  all  is  well! 

Brother,  be  of  good  cheer;  we,  too,  have  known ! 

Not  lonely  moves,  not  utterly  alone, 

Your  sad  fraternity  through  the  dark  of  God: 

But  the  confederate  legions  are  abroad, 
^Life's  flag  advances  on  the  starry  way, 
VAnd  Consciousness,  still  battling,  still  at  bay, 

Holds  the  bright  forts  against  Oblivion — " 

What  answering  thrill  would  'round  the  planet  run ! 

;*— 

For  we  are  one;  all  Consciousness  is  one, 
Whatever  form  it  wear,  however  dressed 
In  gray  or  glamour,  in  whatever  breast 
It  lift  its  longing:  glimmering  it  moves 
Through  the  green  wave;  it  stamps  with  startled  hooves 

86 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

The  upland  pastures  of  the  world,  and  soars 
In  heaven  with  the  eagle;  on  bright  shores 
It  basks  a  sunny  body,  or  in  dread 
Lifts  from  the  undergrowth  a  snaky  head 
And  darts  a  flickering  tongue;  it  is  most  clear 
In  the  lark's  throat;  among  the  grasses  here, 
That  couch  the  ant,  it  turns  a  tiny  eye 
Around  the  darkness;  scampers  and  is  shy 
In  the  scared  rabbit;  through  the  murmuring  air 
Wheels  with  the  beetle,  and,  where  heaven  is  bare, 
Southward  with  the  wild  crane  at  summer's  close, 
Hungering,  an  eternal  pilgrim  goes 
On  quests  implacable.     And  from  the  eyes 
Of  the  poised  panther  gleam  the  cruelties 
Of  its  stern  need  that  roams  the  world,  and  rends 
With  tooth  or  talon;  in  the  hawk  descends 
On  the  stunned  squirrel;  in  the  squirrel  moans 
As  the  hawk  strikes;  darkens  the  earth  with  bones 
Of  its  own  wreck  and,  hungering  again, 
Knows  in  its  body  the  old  spur.     For  when 
Hunger,  the  shadow  cast  by  death,  draws  near, 
Life  on  her  thousand  thrones  feels  the  one  fear, 
And  in  the  lion's  roar  at  dusk  is  heard 
The  unassuagable,  insistent  word 
Of  urgent  Being,  clamorous  to  be. 

87 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

Wreaking  and  wrought  upon,  eternally 
Mingling  and  mixed;  inextricably  blent, 
Victor  and  vanquished,  in  one  sacrament- 
Body  with  body — of  delight  and  death, 
It  moves  in  splendor;  lifts  the  shuddering  breath 
Of  the  spent  stag;  and  in  the  mind  of  Man 
/Rebels  against  the  miserable  plan— 
.Flings  its  frail  web  of  thought  across  the  path 
Of  suns  in  heaven,  and  in  holy  wrath, 
On  blood  of  murdered  brothers  nourished,  still 
Thunders  to  all  the  world,  Thou  shall  not  kill! 
And  the  worm's  death  is  in  the  sparrow's  song. 

And  I  have  seen  it  in  the  gnats  that  throng 
Old  shadowy  forests,  in  tumultuous  dance; 
Or  in  the  little  measuring-worm  advance, 
Inch  by  slow  inch,  along  the  swaying  stem 
Of  some  exalted  flower;  or  lift  the  hem 
Of  the  frail  butterfly's  embroidered  cloak 
In  gentle  breathings  that  the  sun  did  stroke 
Caressingly  with  fingers  of  his  heat; 
Or  from  the  dog  yearn  upward,  and  entreat 
With  eyes  of  adoration  or  of  fear 
The  great  god,  Man — "What  message,  master  dear, 
From  the  dim  heights  beyond  me  where  you  are?" 

88 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

In  the  mare's  tremulous  whinny,  in  the  far 
Lowing  of  cattle  from  the  upland  sward, 
Or  wail  of  whip-poor-wills,  at  twilight  poured 
On  pools  of  silence  plaintively,  or  cry 
Of  the  lone  wolf  beneath  the  glittering  sky 
Of  soundless  winter,  I  have  heard  the  same 
Splendor  speak  forth,  and  utter  the  one  name 
Of  Life,  the  dreadful,  the  magnificent. 

All  afternoon  the  passion  of  heaven  spent 
On  earth  its  fiery  fury  in  blind,  bright 
Lightnings  of  dread  and  laughters  of  delight 
Down  shuddering  deeps  of  shaken  thunder,  where 
The  delirious  longing  loosed  its  sorrowing  hair 
Of  wind  and  shower  and  overshadowing  cloud 
Across  the  beloved  face,  in  darkness  bowed 
Or  glimmering  light  revealed;  and  cried  aloud 
For  anger  of  utter  ecstasy;  and  shed 
The  wild  love  of  the  rushing  rain  that  sped 
To  the  thrilled  heart,  consenting,  of  the  dim 
And  rapturous  earth,  that  lifted  up  to  him 
Drowsed  lips  of  thirsty  flowers;  and  the  cup 
Of  every  flower  for  joy  was  lifted  up, 
And  drank,  and  swayed!    So,  wearietl  out  at  length, 
Flagged  the  bright  pulses,  and  the  ebbing  strength, 

89 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

With  muttering  of  remembered  thunders,  passed 
Down  the  large  shores  of  evening:   till  at  last 
The  exhausted  heaven  of  twilight  from  afar 
Shone  washed  of  all  her  sorrows;  and  a  star 
Brooded  above  the  fading  storm,  and  saw 
The  winnowed  reaches  deepening  into  awe 
Of  gradual  darkness,  and  the  fields  that  lay 
All  drenched  and  wearied  out  at  dusk  of  day 
And  the  worn  end  of  things;  while  far  away 
The  receding  fury  moaned. 

And  now  they  lie 

In  the  same  peace  around  me,  and  the  sky 
Holds  up  her  stars;   now  in  the  rain-drenched  wood 
The  tree-toad  drinks  the  rain  and  finds  it  good, 
And  trills  for  joy — the  sliding  waters  grieve 
Quietly — now  the  bat  begins  to  weave 
With  intricate  motion  on  the  cloudy  loom, 
Of  glamourous  starlight  mingled  and  gray  gloom, 
His  dipping  flight  among  the  darkened  boughs 
And  dreamy  vistas;  and  the  little  mouse 
Furtively  hurries  through  the  lane,  his  eye 
Turned  up  in  terror  as  the  owl  goes  by: 
On  softest  feathers  of  silence  overhead 
Flits  the  dim  shadow  of  the  ancient  dread, 

90 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

Hooded  and  vague,  the  cruelty  of  his  beak 
Bent  on  old  lustful  mysteries.— A  squeak— 
A  scuffle — beating  of  wings — and  in  the  lane 
Silence— and  the  old  wrong  is  done  again, 
That  was  ere  Adam;   the  triumphant  heart 
And  the  defeated,  each  one  doomed  to  his  part, 
They  play  it  through,  the  old  tragedy  where  one 
Presence  still  wars  and  still  is  warred  upon, 
Slays  and  is  slain:   while  fiercely  all  around 
Shakes  the  eternal  love-song  in  shrill  sound, 
Of  grasshopper  and  cricket — sleepless  flow 
The  immortal  tides  of  longing  to  and  fro 
On  waves  of  music;  endless  is  the  prayer 
Of  life  to  the  beloved,  everywhere 
Lifted  in  adoration:  on  dark  shores 
Beats  the  insistent  passion  that  implores 
The  one  dear  breast  of  pity  or  disdain, 
To  be  reborn,  to  be  reborn  again— 
Nor  perish  wholly !     The  blind  earth  is  thrilled 
As  with  vague  rites  accomplished,  dreams  fulfilled, 
Marriage  and  mystic  union;  all  along 
Her  brimming  meadows  rings  the  bridal  song 
And  chaunt  ecstatic:  that  great  heart  of  hers 
Is  touched  now  the  eternal  longing  stirs 
From  hill  to  hollow  and  hollow  to  clear  hill 

91 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

In  many  voices  mingled,  or  the  still 

Ecstasy  of  the  firefly  that  trails 

Among  the  shadows  where  the  starlight  fails, 

His  body's  burning  love.     Forever  flows 

The  dreadful  drama  to  its  stately  close 

And  endless  ending — the  fierce  carnival 

Of  death  and  passion,  wherein  each  and  all 

Mix,  and  are  mingled,  slaughter,  blend,  and  pass 

Each  into  other— the  high  poem  that  has 

No  end  and  no  beginning,  that  the  one 

Self  in  all  living  forms  beneath  the  sun, 

And  on  all  worlds  around  him  and  above, 

Weaves  on  the  strands  of  hunger,  death,  and  love. 

I  see  it  all,  I  hear  it  all,  and  lie 
Under  my  swaying  poplars,  and  the  sky 
Is  fretted  with  frail  leaves.     The  mortal  dream 
Is  in  my  heart:  I  hear  the  night-hawk's  scream 
Shatter  the  silver  silences,  I  hear 
The  owl's  clear  tremolo  rise  over-clear — 
The  mouse's  blood  along  his  veins  has  made 
His  love-note  lovelier  and  the  night  afraid 
Of  beauty's  dreadful  secret — and  I  know 
Soft  shapes  of  stealth  that  in  the  darkness  go, 
Of  furry  lusts  and  gnawing  hungers,  small 

92 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

Twittering  things  obscene,  that  flit  or  crawl 
In  furtive  secrecy,  vague  mouths  and  blurred 
Of  the  night  creature  or  nocturnal  bird- 
Amorphous  moth  and  bat-wing— and  the  earth, 
With  all  her  burrows,  nooks  and  nests  of  birth 
Crowded,  and  wreck  of  many  a  perished  might, 
By  the  ebbed  waters  of  Life's  fierce  delight 
Washed  up  on  shores  of  silence — spoiled  and  spurned 
Altars  where  once  the  sacred  fire  burned- 
Forms  flowing  back  into  the  Formlessness; 
In  a  supreme  embrace,  a  long  caress, 
Mixing  their  bodies  with  the  mother  mould— 
And  all  the  heaven  of  stars  around  me  rolled, 
Whose  brooding  eyes  have  stared  so  many  an  age 
Upon  this  theatre  of  lust  and  rage, 
Of  death  and  adoration.     And  a  breeze 
Rustles  the  branches  of  the  poplar-trees. 

Dear  Spark,  that  shinest  in  the  solitude ! 
One  Consciousness,  that  in  the  brotherhood 
Of  all  earth's  living  creatures  movest  on 
The  shaken  ramparts  of  Oblivion— 
Whose  starry  cry,  across  the  darkness  hurled, 
Makes  music  in  the  silence  of  the  world  ! 
Life,  whose  sole  splendor  in  red  slaughter  spills 


THE    DIVINE    FANTASY 

The  blood  of  its  own  breast;  in  many  wills 
Wars  on  the  one  Will;  and  in  wrath  or  dread 
Feeds  on  itself  and,  on  itself  being  fed, 
Shines  forth  in  song  and  color;  gilds  the  dress 
Of  the  green-fly;  and  pours  its  loveliness 
In  rapture  on  the  earth;  in  theatres 
Of  crowded  congregation  sits — nor  stirs — 
Watching  itself,  itself  the  spectacle; 
And  builds  the  swallow's  breast,  and  shapes  the  shell 
And  all  these  mansions  of  its  thought  that  are 
Between  the  morning  and  the  evening-star, 
On  earth,  in  heaven,  or  in  the  glimmering  caves 
And  grottoes  of  the  world  below  the  waves — 
Butchers  the  ox,  and,  gladdened  by  his  meat, 
In  the  young  mother's  downward  smile  is  sweet; 
Or,  sated  on  his  body,  walks  abroad 
In  symphonies,  and  poems,  and  prayers  to  God; 
Sins,  and  has  conscience  and,  repenting,  sins; 
And  in  the  lowly  patient  spider  spins 
Its  fragile  web;  and  in  these  words  of  mine 
Flings  out  its  groping  utterance,  line  by  line, 
Across  the  intangible  abyss  of  thought — 
With  infinite  passion,  infinite  patience  wrought — 
Dread  Loveliness !     Be  strong  in  me,  be  strong, 
To  utter  forth  your  meaning  in  my  song ! 

94 


THE    LION -HOUSE 


ALWAYS  the  heavy  air, 
The  dreadful  cage,  the  low 
Murmur  of  voices,  where 

Some  Force  goes  to  and  fro 
In  an  immense  despair! 

As  through  a  haunted  brain— 

With  tireless  footfalls 
The  Obsession  moves  again, 

Trying  the  floor,  the  walls, 
Forever,  but  in  vain. 

In  vain,  proud  Force !     A  might, 
Shrewder  than  yours,  did  spin 

Around  your  rage  that  bright 
Prison  of  steel,  wherein 

You  pace  for  my  delight. 

And  O,  my  heart,  what  Doom, 
What  warier  Will  has  wrought 

The  cage,  within  whose  room 
Paces  your  burning  thought, 

For  the  delight  of  Whom  ? 
97 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


OCT    20  1947 


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.J   i~U 

MAY  24 1961 


^ 


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REC'O  LI 
MAR  7 


7990 

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GENERAL  LIBRARY    U.C.  BERKELEY 


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